


all these things that i've done

by stickmarionette



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, World Cup 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>So what if Leo plays within himself sometimes? It doesn't mean that he forgets to pass. He dribbles because he can.</i></p><p><i>Diego, of all people, should understand.</i> Leo, Diego the manager and the motherland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all these things that i've done

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for cornerflag on LJ.

  
_In July 2005, a second phone-call turned Messi's world upside down. Argentina had just knocked Brasil out of the World Youth Championships when Messi was handed a mobile phone and told that Maradona was on the line. He thought it was a practical joke, until he heard the voice say: "Hello monster [an Argentinian term for a big, big player], this is little Diego."_

For any Argentinian footballer, this was the equivalent of a Papal blessing. "As I held the telephone I looked in the mirror and my eyes were full of tears, so it was hard to speak even when I regained my composure a little bit," recalls Messi, still star struck. - 'Introducing the Messiah', FourFourTwo magazine, 2005

(In full:

D10S ES ARGENTINO, EL MESSIAS TAMBIEN  
 _God is Argentine and so is the Messiah_ )

  
Barcelona  
October 2008

  
Leo's mother calls him first, her voice trembling. He's never heard her sound so excited about football before. It's not that she doesn't love it, or what it's done for Leo and the family, but to her (to all of them) football's also the reason they haven't spent more than a single month together since he was 13.

But Diego, Diego is bigger than football. Everyone knows that.

"My son, coached by Diego! Oh, I'm so proud."

He wishes, for a brief moment, to have actually _done_ something to make her so happy, like won an award, scored a great goal, anything - but those things are just reminders to her of how far away he is from her at any given time.

In this case, all Leo's done is play just as badly as the rest of the guys, when a better performance might have saved Coco. He tried, he really did. But as the press can't stop reminding him, when Leo plays badly it's not just a bad day out - it's a conspiracy.

Leo swallows back a sigh.

"Yeah, mom, I'm excited too."

For him, Diego's always been more a myth than a living legend. He hadn't been born yet in 86, wasn't old enough to understand in 90, and all he's ever seen are videos, endless reruns of the same passes, dribbles, goals, so much brilliance it seemed like one man could not possibly have done it all.

So, yeah, a part of him is genuinely excited.

The rest -

A lot's changed in the past three years.

  
* * *

  
Just last month, people were asking him for his reaction to Diego's latest criticism, something about him being selfish and making the team into Messi FC.

If Leo was the type to tell everyone what he was thinking, he would've asked them why he was supposed to care. Diego wasn't a coach or a team mate. If they thought he was being selfish, that would be a problem. The opinion of someone else - even Diego - he just can't be bothered caring about.

But he's never been good at explaining these things, and it would just come out all wrong. So he put a smile on and said something that didn't sound too dismissive.

Only now he has to care. Or at least think about what Diego says, even if he can't agree with it.

So what if Leo plays within himself sometimes? It doesn't mean that he forgets to pass. He dribbles because he can.

Diego, of all people, should understand.

There was a time when he wouldn't have dared to even think that. Maybe even last year he would have flinched from it. But he's not afraid any more.

  


Paris  
February 2009

  
The ball arcs precisely between the lampshade and the vase, only wobbling slightly towards the lampshade right before it hits the wall and bounces straight back.

Leo frowns. The flight path is off, but it's difficult to say how. Like always, it's probably just a matter of practising until he gets it to do he wants. Preferably without breaking any more furniture.

"You're a freak," Kun says from behind him in a stage whisper. "But I already knew that."

Leo's already laughing even before he turns around.

Kun greets him with a big hug, only pulling back far enough to squeal loudly into his face, hands clutching at the sleeve of his shirt. "Messi! Messi! Oh God can I have your shirt? Can you sign my arm?"

"Shut. Up."

Leo buries his face into the juncture of Kun's neck and shoulder to hide his rising blush, but Kun doesn't even let him be embarrassed in peace, tipping Leo's face up with callused fingertips and getting all up in his space again. "You know you love it."

"I really, really don't," Leo laughs. "Although, you know, Diego's good for that. Everybody just wants to see him now."

"Tell me about it. It's crazy, I don't know how he lives like that all the time."

The thought makes Leo pause. He's never thought about it like that before. "Huh. I didn't think - does he even notice?"

Diego might not seem infallible to him any more, but Leo still had trouble thinking of him anything other than a collection of brilliant tricks held together by force of personality.

(Sometimes, when Leo pictures Diego saying whatever the press are repeating to him, usually his latest opinions on Leo's performances, he's an enormous head flowing in the sky, passing judgement on everyone below. Leo knows what Diego looks like, of course he does. Everyone does. But somehow his brain still does - that.)

Kun draws away from Leo until they're an arm's length apart, watching his thoughts play out over his face and shaking his head at what he finds there.

"What?"

"You gotta stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"You know. He's just a guy," Kun whispers, like it's too shocking and scary to say out right. "Just like you and me."

Leo snorts. "Not just like."

"Yeah, he is. You just gotta treat him like a person, man," Kun says earnestly, and he would know.

"Alright. I'll try."

  
* * *

  
The loud scrape of wood on marble makes Leo drop his fork. Thankfully, the clang is covered by Diego's big, booming voice.

"All good for tomorrow?"

Leo glances down at his spaghetti to avoid looking at Diego's looming shadow just beside him. His chair had been moved until it was just beside Leo's, but Leo didn't have to look at that to know. Diego has this - presence, kind of. You can always tell he's there.

(The first time they met, Leo couldn't even speak. He just stared, as if he could steal some of Diego's magic through looking at him.

People look at Diego like that all the time. They touch him a lot, too, like the gift God gave him could rub off onto them. Leo gets it. It's easy to want that.

What he'll probably never get used to is people looking at _him_ like that, touching him as if he's got something similar.)

"Yeah," he mumbles, finally, after swallowing his food. "I'm fine."

Diego's hand feels massive on his back, warm like a furnace. "Of course you are. Don't get nervous, do you?"

He laughs loudly, and Leo catches a few of his team mates looking their way, sly grins on their faces. It only takes him a second to muster up a smirk to shoot back at them.

"No. No, I don't," he says quietly. The question doesn't really need answering, but it's only polite.

He glances up when there's no response and finds Diego's face less than an arm's length away, his gaze piercing as he stares at Leo.

It's an effort not to look down again. After what feels like an hour, Diego laughs again and the hand that was on his back is suddenly ruffling his hair.

"The No.10 is yours. Nobody else is worthy. Nobody. You got that, kid? It's just you." Diego's voice is quiet this time, conspiratorial. "So you gotta go out there and show them all."

Maybe it's true that he's the only one. Maybe it's not. But Diego's right, the talk is useless. It's what happens on the pitch that counts.

  


  
_...after a game against France in Paris in February, which Argentina won and in which Messi scored another wonder goal, Maradona was overheard confiding in a group of friends, with what sounded like a curious mix of misgiving and wonder: "Well, let's see now if it really turns out that he is going to be better than me."_

  
La Paz  
April 2009

  
Leo drops to the ground at the final whistle, struggling to draw breath, and not just from the exhaustion of 90 minutes at altitude.

Six goals, they'd conceded. He can't remember ever losing this badly.

It's only when someone's pulling him up by the arms that he notices how hard he's shaking, and he doesn't stop until he's being roughly hugged.

"Get up, kid. You did your best. The world's not ending yet."

The expression on Diego's face when Leo looks up is chilling - not because he looks angry. He doesn't.

He looks _lost_ , for just a split second, and it's the scariest thing Leo's ever seen. The bottom drops out of his stomach, and it feels like - like the moment when he first found out he needed growth hormones.

Kun's voice echoes through his head, _he's just a guy_.

Leo thinks, belatedly, that perhaps he didn't want to know that.

  
* * *

  
He goes through the motions of showering and getting changed and somehow make it back to his hotel room before the shaking starts again.

At this point, it's almost like a sickness. His body knows to expect misery everytime he flies back to South America, no matter how hard he tries nothing comes off right, and he ends up flying back to Barcelona with his tail between his legs, while everyone in Argentina talks about how he just doesn't care enough.

It's just -

Leo scoops up the ball from its perch on the chair and throws it in the air. Hits it as hard as he can, left foot.

His aim's perfect. The lamp shatters on impact, exactly as intended.

  
* * *

  
There's glass everywhere. He'll have to apologize and pay for the damage and clean-up later. Probably a little extra too, just to make sure nothing ends up in the papers.

Leo's not the kind of guy who makes headlines because he's trashed a hotel room or did something else inappropriate. Really not. The satisfaction's never worth the attention it draws, and he's always known how to internalize.

But he's never felt quite this frustrated before, either.

Maybe it's crazy to feel this way when he's so young still, but he can almost hear the giant clock ticking down on his career, measured in World Cups. If they don't qualify for South Africa -

No. That's not going to happen.

(Leo wonders if Diego ever felt this way. Or maybe he always strode about as if he knew his ultimate destination, every sign post pointing towards greatness.)

  
* * *

  
Kun is a good room mate. He doesn't say a thing when he comes back to find the room minus one lamp.

  


Rosario  
September 2009

  
Being 2-0 down at half-time to Brazil is unbearable enough on its own. In Rosario?

The walk from the field to the dressing room has never felt so long to Leo, the silence of the crowd so deafening.

Once inside, things aren't much better. Most of the guys just sit around staring at the floor as if it's the most fascinating thing they've ever seen. Javi and Seba are the only ones acting alive, even if all they're doing is arguing animatedly in a hushed voice in their little corner.

All of which makes Leo feel oddly alone, at least until Kun drops down heavily next to him, resting his head against Leo's shoulder.

"Stop staring so hard," he whispers. "Not like that's going to help."

The quiet resignation in his voice makes Leo suddenly furious. "Then what? What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Wait for Diego," Kun hisses. "I think he wants to make a change."

( _Something_ needs to change, that's obvious. Leo's not the coach, he doesn't think about the game as a whole, only the parts he can control, but even he can tell when things just aren't working. By all right they should not be that much worse, that much less of a team, than Brazil.)

Right on cue, Diego strides in, the doors banging shut in his wake. "Come on, you monsters, let's go."

His voice, raised to carry, fills up all the empty spaces and the room instantly feels less cold. Nobody's looking at the floor any more, either - their heads are up, meeting the mad, intense light in Diego's stare. Leo finds himself grinning back when it's his turn.

"I want to see all of you sweating blood in the second half. Let's take down those Brazilian bastards."

Diego nods his head imperiously at the answering cheer. It's only when he turns to walk away that Leo notices Bilardo standing behind him.

"Maxi, you're off. Kun, get stripped and ready to come on."

He doesn't wait for either of them to react before turning away, footsteps quickening to catch up to Diego at the door.

Leo can feel Kun tense up. Across the room, Maxi's not moving either. Half the room jumps when the door slams after Bilardo.

 _Wait, that's it? But..._

Eyes closed, Leo takes a deep breath, holds it. Breathes out. Opens his eyes to Javi and Seba looming over him, looking anxious - or as anxious as Javi and Seba can look.

"Off you go, come on," Javi's saying to Kun, offering him a hand up and a quick, encouraging smile.

Even though it's not for him, Leo has to resist the urge to smile back. Javi has that effect on people.

"I'm going, I'm going," Kun says, with his best grumbling old man voice, but when Leo catches his eye he looks happier too.

Javi sits down next to Leo in Kun's spot, Seba flanking him on the other side.

"Hey, kid," Seba begins. "What did Diego say to you about your position before the game?"

"Um." There's a moment in which Leo honestly doesn't remember. It's not that he hadn't been playing attention. It's just that -

 _"I'm not gonna restrict you, just play like you know."_

"I think he said I could go where I wanted? I've been trying to stay up front to help Carlitos out."

"Okay, good. Listen, I want you to try and link up with the midfield more when Kun gets on the pitch. We've got a gaping hole between midfield and attack."

Which is true, and not a problem Leo can fix by himself, but he can definitely try.

"Got it. Are you going to talk to the others too?"

Javi nods. "Seba and I want to make sure we have the best chance of getting a result. This isn't - " He glances towards the door.

It takes Leo a second.

"Oh. Yeah, I know."

Javi's not the kind of guy who would try to undermine the coach. They're all just trying to do something - anything - to make it better.

2-0 down to Brazil at home, for fuck's sake.

  
* * *

  
The second half isn't as bad, in the same way a minor car crash isn't as bad as a major one. The attack works better, which to Leo means he can actually make sense of it, and having Kun at his side always helps. But it's still not good enough.

  
* * *

  
 _First home defeat in a World Cup qualifier in 16 years_ , says the papers.

 _Disgraceful._

 _Rumours of senior dressing room figures attempting to undermine Diego's authority._

 _Messi doesn't care when he plays for Argentina._

  
* * *

  
Leo leaves for Barcelona feeling like he's running away.

  


Barcelona  
October 2009

  
 _The Europe-based players have no passion for the shirt,_ says the papers.

 _No wonder it took someone with proper feeling like Palermo to rescue us._

 _See,_ the Catalan _played poorly again._

  
* * *

  
Three days after Argentina qualify for the World Cup by the skin of their teeth - and Leo finally _gets_ that expression, having lived through those last 90 minutes - Diego goes on TV in Argentina to tell Leo what he's been producing for the national team hasn't been good enough.

Leo finds out when he gets asked about it at a press conference.

He says something vague and boring in response, _maybe I need to improve,_ or _we'll work on it before the World Cup_. After so many years of press conferences, microphones and questions and blinding flashlights, he's gotten good at making something up to keep them satisfied.

Inside - inside, it's an added weight on top of everything else that's been said about him lately, whispers about why he doesn't perform for the national team that pile up like bricks being stacked on his chest.

Even that, Leo can get over. It's just talk. People can insult him, tell him he should be on the bench, call him 'the Catalan', say he lets the side down, whatever.

But -

"Maybe I should quit. _Ole_ says the fans want me out, right?"

He's not in this for their own fans to shout insults at his mother in the goddamn Monumental. In the middle of a fucking World Cup qualifier, even.

Rodrigo looks appalled and for a moment Leo thinks he's going to get hit. The bear hug catches him completely off-guard.

"Don't be an idiot. It's all going to blow over soon, and anyway, you're going to the World Cup. Isn't that what you wanted all along?"

Leo doesn't just want to go to the World Cup. He wants to win it. The way they're going right now, that's not really a possibility.

At Barca, he knows his position on the field and in the dressing room. On the field, he's one of the people who make the team play, but not the only one, and he's responsible for tracking back like everybody else, but only for his own assigned position. In the dressing room, he's little quiet Leo, who doesn't talk much but gets a respectful hearing when he does.

With the national team, there are no certainties, on or off the field. And Diego - Diego might not make it worse, but he hasn't made it better.

But his brother's right. Leo's never given up on anything because it was too hard, and he's not going to start now.

  


Barcelona  
March 2010

  
"Diego came to Spain just to talk to you," Leo's dad says.

"I know," Leo says. "Don't worry, I'll listen. I always listen."

His dad laughs. "Yes, but when do you ever take anything in?"

"When it makes sense, I do," Leo says quietly. He's not that stubborn. It just takes him a while to get things sometimes.

  
* * *

  
There's something weird about having Diego at Barca training, even just as an observer. He feels out of place at the Ciutat Esportiva, maybe because Leo tends to think of the place as the Mister's kingdom, everything ordered and quiet and under control. Diego's kind of the opposite of all that.

  
* * *

  
" - we showed those fuckers who wanted us to fail. They'll keep trying to turn us against each other, but we know better. Right, kid?"

After training, the Mister got them an empty office to chat in. It's one of the ones with floor-to-ceiling views of the main training pitches, so they can see one of the youth teams doing drills just outside. Leo's constantly resisting the temptation to look at them instead of Diego.

He's terrible at eye contact anyway, and Diego's just too intense sometimes.

"Yeah, sure," Leo says, when Diego looks like he's actually expecting a reply. It's not the most awkward conversation they've had, but it's definitely up there.

So much so that even Diego seems to notice. He heaves a massive sigh before grabbing Leo by the shoulders. "Do you even know what you have, kid? Do you get why you have to be the leader?"

Leo makes himself look up. "I guess."

Diego grins. "Ahh, don't be so modest. It's not just the skill, although Lord knows that's important. You've gotta be hungry enough to eat the world. I always had that. You - I'll say, I didn't always see it, but I know you have it now."

"Thank you."

He knew that, he's always known, but it's still really nice to hear.

"Me and you against the world, kid. How about it?"

It's the most serious Leo's ever seen him.

"Okay," Leo says. He looks into Diego's bulging eyes, and he sees -

Maybe a glimmer of something he can understand.

 _Football is a team sport,_ the coaches back at La Masia had said, over and over, foreheads wrinkling when Leo just stared at them in response.

 _You need to let us in on the game if you want to win,_ they would continue, and that was when he got it.

Sure, he'll bite. Maybe they can make it work, after all.

  


Johannesburg  
10 June 2010

  
Leo's third freekick hits the crossbar with a vicious _ping_ , bounces in.

He frowns, squinting against the sunlight.

"Nice bend on that," Diego says.

Leo doesn't start. He always knows when Diego's there, these days. "Better than the first two," he says, slowly. "I can get accuracy, but not much power."

Diego shakes his head violently. "Accuracy's more important. Pass me that ball - " He grins when Leo dinks it to him using the outside of his boot, chesting the incoming ball and shooting in the same smooth movement. It's only a bit slower than it might have been, 10 years ago.

The ball arcs toward goal, hits the post, and bounces in.

"You don't need a hammer when a screwdriver will do. Got it?"

Leo grins. Point taken. And if he has to take a guess he'd say Diego's probably still one of the best freekick-takers on the team. Which is both impressive - in Diego's case - and a sad reflection on the rest of them.

He places the ball to go for attempt number four.

  


Johannesburg  
12 June 2010

  
There's really nothing like playing a World Cup game. It's just as good as Leo remembers - the colour, the noise, the adrenaline rush, even for a group stage game. And the best part is that they feel more like a team than ever, like everybody knows what they're supposed to be doing, even if some of them aren't playing in their natural position.

After the final whistle, Leo's lifted clean off the ground in a hug, Diego's beard scratchy on his face.

He smiles when he's let go, and somehow it's not so hard to look Diego in the eye, this time.

  


Polokwane  
22 June 2010

  
He'd wanted to room with Kun again, but Seba's definitely a good guy to have around too. He's quiet, goes to the effort of making Leo _mate_ tea all the time and he's really easy to talk to.

"It's the ball, kid. You're not the only one having trouble with it."

Leo stares resentfully at the one he'd bought back to his room. "It's not the ball."

Like most of the others, he's played with much less ball-like things and managed to dribble and score with them. It's round, he can control and shoot with it fine. But somehow, still, right now he's about as likely to score with an orange as he is with the fucking match ball.

"Putting pressure on yourself, that'll help," Seba says drily.

"I'm not - it's not a big deal, as long's somebody's scoring I'm fine," Leo mutters. "I just - "

Seba pats him on the head like a bear swatting at a rabbit. "Relax. It'll come."

  


Johannesburg  
27 June 2010

  
Diego marches up to him before the game, and there's a split second in which Leo's expecting tactical instructions, even though they're playing the same system they did for the game against South Korea. And even though Diego doesn't really give him instructions.

"Wanna make a bet?" Diego says, grinning like he's sharing an in-joke.

Leo blinks. "What kind?"

  
* * *

  
"Well done!" Diego says, once he puts Leo down. He's grinning from ear to ear. Leo can't help returning it, even though -

"I played like shit."

Diego thumps him on the back. "Never say that, you got me? Now, what about our bet?"

"Double or nothing," Leo says immediately. "I'll score next time."

As long as they keep progressing, he's not too worried about it. The goals will come. The most important thing, now, is beating Germany.

  


Cape Town  
2 July 2010

  
The night before they play Germany, Seba leaves their room and doesn't come back for three hours. When he gets back, he's frowning, his footsteps heavy.

"Where'd you go?

Seba starts, like he hadn't noticed Leo was there, tucked into a corner of the couch. "Talk with Diego. We're worried Masche's going to be isolated in midfield against the Germans. Did you see them play England?"

Leo nods. "Yeah, they're good. What did Diego say?"

"That he'd think about it. I don't know, kid," Seba sighs, dropping down beside Leo. "I think he's made his mind up."

"Then why'd you even try?"

Seba had to know how that would come off, especially after all the rumours about senior players undercutting the coach.

"Had to. Unlike you youngsters, this is my last shot at the World Cup. I want to do everything I can, even if it's too much. He'll just have to forgive me," Seba says, laughing at the idea even as he spoke it.

"Seba, I get it."

He does. It's Leo's second World Cup and the second time they've made the quarterfinals, which already makes him luckier than most players out there. But he wants much more than that. Diego himself is a living reminder of the goal Leo needs to aim for.

They just have to hope that Diego will be up to taking them all back up there with him yet again.

  


Cape Town  
3 July 2010

  
When he was young - younger - Leo used to lock the door before he let himself cry, no matter what happened.

No one else got to see him break down.

So Leo buries his face in Diego's shoulder, just for a moment, and he doesn't let himself shed a single tear on the pitch. Those he saves for the privacy of the dressing room, for the other guys who share the same feelings.

Even knowing that they had a team that wasn't quite a team, with a coach who wasn't quite a coach, Leo still couldn't stop himself from dreaming. After all, they had talented, committed players and they had Diego, who made them believe in the impossible. Maybe too much.

Maybe legends don't work quite like they used to.

  
* * *

  
"I'm not gonna sit here and tell you what to do, kid," Seba says, when they're packing to go.

"Yeah, you are," Leo replies, deliberately cheeky. It's meant to make Seba grin, and he's gratified when it works.

Seba hadn't been crying, but he hadn't smiled since the game, either.

"Little shit. Are you listening to me?"

"I always listen to you."

Seba nods. "Then you gotta start building around you. It doesn't matter who the new coach is, that's the secret. At Barca they do that for you, but not here. Here you have to do it yourself. You, and whoever you can trust."

 _Who I trust._

Leo thinks of Pablo, Osky, Fer, Kun, all the guys who came with him when he stood up as the little scruffy kid no one knew and tried to lead the team at the U20s. He thinks of Angelito, Sergio, Ever and the rest of the team who pulled together to win gold at the Olympics. Then there's Masche and Gabi and of course the grumpy old man in front of him.

Yeah, he's starting to see what Seba means.

  
* * *

  
People compare Leo with Diego a lot, and it's not as if he doesn't understand the temptation, but -

Diego's from a different time, maybe, a time with more respect for legends, people with booming voices and big ideas who didn't care for rules or conventions. Leo's just a guy who happens to be good at playing football. His world used to be pretty simple - filled with the joy of playing, the satisfaction that came with winning and the pain of losing. Now, there's more, sponsorships and commercial trips and dealing with the press, but really, he's still doing things the same way.

There's no glittering path lit by lights for Leo to follow, not in this day and age. But that's okay. His life's never been straight forward. Him and Diego, they at least have that in common.

Right now, he's still got time, enough to write his own story.

  


  
_"Maradona is the greatest of all time. When millions of years pass I won't even be close to him. I have my own story to write and it will be something different."_   


**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The banner in the picture comes from Atletico v Barca (Copa del Rey), 2009, a game which Diego was at and during which Leo scored a hat-trick.
> 
> 2\. The story about Leo's mom crying when she heard about Diego being appointed manager of Argentina because it was her dream to have her son managed by Diego was all over the Argentine press at the time.
> 
> 3\. Coco = Alfio Basile, previous manager of Argentina. Kun = Sergio Aguero, Atletico Madrid striker, good friend of Leo and son-in-law of Diego Maradona. Javi = Javier Zanetti, national team veteran, later omitted from the World Cup squad. Seba = Juan Sebastian Veron, national team veteran, friend and mentor of Leo.
> 
> 4\. Nothing Diego says to the press in this fic is made up.
> 
> 5\. The games mentioned in this fic: France 0 - 2 Argentina (friendly), Bolivia 6 - 1 Argentina (WCQ), Argentina 1 - 3 Brazil (WCQ), Argentina 2 - 1 Peru (WCQ), Uruguay 0 - 1 Argentina (WCQ), Argentina 1 - 0 Nigeria (WC), Argentina 4 - 1 South Korea (WC), Greece 0 - 2 Argentina (WC), Argentina 3 - 1 Mexico (WC), Argentina 0 - 4 Germany (WC).
> 
> 6\. For sections of the Argentine press, their 'Messi isn't Argentine enough' kick lasted from July 2008 to around the beginning of the World Cup.
> 
> 7\. The Rosario scene is based on reports from newspaper articles of what happened during half-time of that game. In fact, most of the politicking and behind the scenes problems hinted at in this fic were detailed in articles before and after the World Cup, including what happened before the Germany game.
> 
> 8\. In Argentine slang, a 'monster' is a big, big player.
> 
> 9\. Yes, at one point Ole really did run a poll the result of which showed that fans wanted Leo out of the team.
> 
> 10\. Diego's trip to Barcelona really happened too.
> 
> 11\. It was repeatedly noted that Leo failed to score during the World Cup despite having not a few chances. Some of his team mates, when asked, said the Jabulani was to blame, but Leo himself rejected that theory after the Spanish Super Cup, during which he scored a hat-trick using the same ball.
> 
> 12\. Diego's bet with Leo (that he'd score during Argentina v Mexico and subsequently Argentina v Germany) is real.
> 
> 13\. All quotes taken from articles in English.


End file.
